The Traveller
There was a time when
she’d travelled by rail -
adept as any teenager,
she’d leapt
gazelle-like from the
platform to the train
then, sprung down
again to help some weary traveller aboard.
Unencumbered by
luggage she had lived
very well from the tattered ruck-sack
that had served as both
wardrobe and fridge
in those headily
healthy days before they invented hygiene.
Once, in a distant
dusty land she’d stood
on the tips of her
toes in the sand
and rested her brow
upon the sphinx’s plinth
admiring his cool
ennui. But unlike him
her body gave way
gracefully to age;
her eyes grew tired
and, though
she felt the remnants
of desire,
she found her body now
required reprieve.
Now, less inclined to
travel, she reclines
in comfortable seats
replete with support for throbbing feet
yet lives the wild
life still, if somewhat vicariously,
through thrilling
feats of younger, more agile relations.
